


Don't Be

by PaintedPetrichor



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bumbleby - Freeform, F/F, Flashbacks, Graphic Description, Mild Gore, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedPetrichor/pseuds/PaintedPetrichor
Summary: Blake has PTSD. So does Yang. And, you know, they love each other.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92





	Don't Be

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a college class?? Goal was to describe a character with a mental illness, and I did my best to depict it in Blake (and a little in Yang) in the time that I had.
> 
> If you're my professor cross-checking the internet for plagiarism, then it's time to turn back and forget you found this.

“Hey, Blake... I think I’ve got something you _can_ help me with.”

“Hm?” Blake sits up from her bed in their Atlas barrack, and follows Yang’s voice to the bathroom. “What do you mean?”

Yang is fresh from the shower, towel drying her mass of blonde hair. “I’ve got a _hand-_le on doing most stuff with one arm,” she explains, glancing up to wink at her partner in conjunction with her wordplay, “but doing my hair is still… a bit of a challenge. I need two hands for it, but it gets caught in the joints of my prosthetic, it’s a whole thing. Would you mind?”

She gestures towards the hairbrush on the counter, which Blake picks up almost eagerly. “Of course.”

“Great!” Yang pulls over a stool and plops down so Blake can get to work. She runs the brush through her partner’s thick hair, starting at the tips and gradually working her way up through nearly three feet of shiny golden strands.

“I heard Weiss and Ruby say something about visiting a salon in the morning,” Blake says, taking a moment to run her hand through Yang’s hair. “Think you’ll change it up?”

“Ha, no way!” Yang says, pulling her toiletry bag off of the counter and zipping it open to pull out a few medication bottles. “Nobody messes with my hair.”

“Oh.” Just the thought that Yang would trust her to do this makes Blake blush. She continues to go through Yang’s hair, and watches as she disengages her prosthetic arm and places it on the countertop. Then, she unscrews the metal place that covers the stump of her upper arm, revealing the scarred flesh underneath.

Oh.

Blake’s never seen it before.

Never seen the metal rod that pokes through her skin, offering her artificial arm a place to grip on.

Never seen the patches of red skin, burned from the blade that severed her arm.

Never seen the tracks of surgical scars that stitched the wound together.

_“I’m sorry.”_

She’s just seen it bloody, bright red, sliced through like butter by a sword that used to protect her. The sword that just stabbed Blake in the gut, in both the metaphorical and literal sense. Her body throbs with pain, wracks with her sobbing, but she has to _run_. She always _runs._ She can’t _run._ She can’t-

_“I’m _so_ sorry!”_

“Whoa, Blake! Hey! It’s okay-” There’s a hand on her shoulder, and Blake screams.

“It’s me, it’s Yang, it..it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Blake blinks. She’s on the floor, so’s the hairbrush she had been holding, so’s Yang, kneeling in front of her.

“I-” Blake lifts her trembling hands, looks at her partner. There’s no blood anywhere, nobody’s hurt. Her heart feels like it’s beating into her throat, hot and fast. “I- I don’t- I’m-”

Yang offers a hand again, and Blake takes it, squeezes it tight as she pants for air. Hangs on for dear life, because she knows that otherwise she’d flee.

“It’s okay,” Yang says again, squeezing back. “I’m here. We’re both here, we’re safe.” She pauses. “He’s gone, Blake. He’s dead.”

Blake can’t find her voice, but she nods, and holds on until she can.

“Thank you,” Blake says, taking the glass of water Yang offers after she’s calmed down, feels the cool glass in her hands and the water down her throat. “I don’t know what happened,” she explains to Yang, sitting next to her on the bed. “I just saw it and then… I panicked, I think? I don’t know.”

“Saw what?” Yang asks. Blake looks at it, sees the realization in Yang’s face, and feels guilty all over again. “Oh,” she says, holding her injured arm tight to her side. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have let you see, it is a bit hard to look at, huh?”

“No! No, it’s fine!” Blake insists. It _should_ be fine. “Don’t be sorry, really, it’s my fault, it just reminded me of.. what happened.”

Yang looks up, not at Blake but straight ahead, at the wall. Blake watches as she takes a deep, long breath, then reaches to take Blake’s hand.

“It happens to me too,” she admits. “The panic attacks, the flashbacks, the nightmares.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Yang says. “It started after the battle at Beacon, it was rough. My dad got me to do some therapy, and that helped a bit, and I take antidepressants and stuff but… it’s still hard.”

“Yeah,” Blake agrees. “It’s hard. And here I was thinking it would get better after he was gone for good.” She sighs. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, I shouldn’t have let it happen-”

“What?” Yang turns to her. Blake worries she might be angry, she _should_ be angry at her, but she’s not. Just… confused. “You.. you didn’t do this, Blake.”

“But I-”

“No!” Yang insists, firm and strong, the way Blake knows her to be. “You, Blake Belladonna, did not do this. Adam did this. It is _not_ your fault.”

Blake’s crying before she can even realize it.

“Don’t be sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are hella appreciated <3


End file.
